I love soft and blurry pictures. Not overly blurry, but as with Goldilocks, just right.
I've had a real couple days. Yesterday was a sort of repeat of the day before except that I never left the house. Well, I did once, to get some medicine, but that was only for a few moments. Breakfast was organic chicken strips and 'tater tots. WTF? I got a text from the gym. Where was I? "Not today," I wrote back. I may have needed the rest. I hadn't a bit of desire to do anything other than what I was doing which was, by and large, working with images on the computer. When I do that, trying out new methods and new "looks," I get lost. One image can take forty-five minutes or so. Why do it, you might ask? There are lots of filter kits that let you just "click" a look. That's what a lot of photographers do. All I can answer is, "I don't like it."
And so, with music driving me, I sat and burned holes in my eyes looking at a computer screen for hour upon hour. When I looked at the clock, it was late afternoon. I called my mother and said I wouldn't be over. I was a bum, I said. Some days are just like that. O.K. she said. Relax.
I took a break to "make" dinner. A little bit of cheese, a few olives and crackers and a glass of wine on the deck with the cat. Then I took the left over salmon from the night before and made a salmon salad. It was better this way. I opened a can of black bean soup and watched another fight on YouTube, Rocky Marciano vs. Archie Moore. It is hard to believe that Marciano hadn't a single loss in his career. If he didn't eventually knock everyone out, he would never have won a fight.
When I was a kid, they used to have the Friday Night Fights on television, and I would watch them with my father. He'd ask me who was going to win before each fight. We had a tv that was in a blonde wooden box that stood on a matching three legged stand. The images were black and white and often full of "snow."
Another piece of the puzzle, I guess, eh, doc?
Before bed, I wanted to look at the pictures I had cooked up that day. Shoot. Most of them really didn't work out that well. I had not established "a look" but simply had a bunch of mostly unappealing things. That's the nature of experimenting, though. I put my whiskey on the table, put on the music, and tried again. I sent a couple of beautiful old photos to Red. It was one o'clock. I wasn't sleepy, but she was right, it was late for me. Reluctantly, I went to bed.
I will have to start over today. Start what over? I don't know, exactly. I need to get out of the house. I need to move, even on a gimpy knee. I need water and fresh air. I need something to happen. But I'm guessing that Mickey Rourke and I will never have that long desired boxing match, so I may eat a hot dog for breakfast.
That's all I have after a day of sitting, a poor narrative of eating and drinking. I'm feeling like little more than a chatbot, a disembodied voice, a bad algorithm. Some days are just like that.
But tomorrow is a rail stop party, the factory kids riding the train station to station, from Factory City to Gotham and back, a different bar at every stop. I can't do them all. I'll do a few. It will be a Farewell Tour as some of the group is leaving, moving on to live in other parts of the country. I become more of a stranger.